


untitled 3

by plutodolohov



Series: thoughts of a dissolved mind [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Diary/Journal, Emotional, Emotions, Feelings, Gen, Introspection, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutodolohov/pseuds/plutodolohov
Series: thoughts of a dissolved mind [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149593
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	untitled 3

So I'm sitting in the car right now, waiting for my sister to finish piano class. I just woke up from a nap like a minute before my mum made me drive my sister out here, and so I'm all disoriented and quiet and so delocalized and there's a funny smell I'm pretty sure is me. I put the seat back and laid down, attempting to get some semblance of sleep again for the hour I have to wait for my sister to finish playing her ivory. I'm texting **[redacted]** and I can't seem to find the right words right now even though for once we aren't at different frequencies of thought and work and so she's actually responding. The sleep playlist on Spotify is on and its playing is slowly draining my battery so as I type I keep flicking my eyes to the percent number on the little bar of info at the top of my screen, watching with disconnectedness, barely there worry as the numbers drop lower and lower: 23, 22, 21, 20…. 

The air outside is still too hot, a whopping 102 Arizonian degrees but the sky has turned a pastel blur of pink and yellow and orange and blue. The sun has set and I can see the deep blue that doesn't quite mimic the sea, the deep blue that as of yet still doesn't show the stars but indicates that Queen Night is coming; slowly making the origin of the pastel bubble shrink and shrink till all i can see now is a small dot that fades outward in an ombre of blue, the pale Hydroflask-frost-blue the only indication that the sun has not yet slept. Coupled with the soft sleep music and my current state of sitting slightly disoriented in my car, watching almost disconnectedly as the street lamps turn on and give new light into night: it feels right, peaceful and calm in a way that I rarely experience. I can escape fully from the expectations of society and family and myself and just write, acknowledging almost hypocritically and from a distance that there is work to be done, but not now. It feels like the perfect mix of melancholia and calm I need and always crave. I feel safe and alone and its more beautiful than the world, more than all the _le petit morts_ I've had, more beautiful than my current boy-interest. It feels… almost indescribable, this feeling of content and apathy that for once doesn't have all of its negative connotations, and i just want my whole life to be like this. 

I feel like a cat. This is what I imagine when I imagine cats. i've always connected with them and so i'm not surprised by this revelation i've had as i write my thoughts just on a page in Google Docs. The free form of words as I try to make you the reader understand how beautiful I felt, the writer in my head screaming to show and not tell, to show and not tell, to show and not tell! 

I'm sorry if you came looking for a piece that was equally nice as the last thing you read. you won't find that here. 

But I can try, nonetheless. Imagine sitting under a giant tree, an oak, busy and green and providing shade and an area where the air is just so perfectly cold (incidentally, there's a beautiful tree outside that you can see through my windshield that quite perfectly matches what I need. Can you see it?). then imagine you sitting under it, not a care in the world: no responsibilities, no consequences, no plans or needed action. Just you and time eternal, and the cold breeze. Its the ideal: that dreamscape that is always heralded in movies as the quiet place in your head that you can escape to, where the lighting is just-so and twilight, and the streetlights and houselights blink and shimmer quietly. It is the quiet and calm you are afraid to do anything in for fear of shattering the illusion, for shattering the beautiful glass sculpture with a breath, a thought. You can see the looming Reality as it approached but for once you are okay with it, and know that the apathy you feel will evolve into a quiet force for you to finish the work you gave. 

And now the sky has turned that same dark blue that you think of when you think galaxy mirror glaze, so i will stop and bask in my little bit of peace, in my little bubble, until I have to return to reality. 

aug 29, 2019, ~7pm


End file.
